WaterColored Roses
by Megzalove
Summary: After Burt dies, Kurt takes up painting in a small-town. Soon, a man named Blaine moves to town and together they paint a world just for themselves. Klaine AU based on Painters by Jewel. Painter!Klaine Warnings: Character Death!
1. Chapter 1

_I know I should be working on FTW, but this popped into my head this morning and demanded to be written! The town that this is written about is not a real place. It is actually an amalgamation of towns that exist in Northeast Washington. Also, I do not pretend to know anything about art except for basics, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong! As always, enjoy. _

_Warnings: Character Death. _

Water-colored Roses (1/3)

He smiled as he ran his hand over the portrait. The colors of the sunset mixed with that of his lover's eyes staring back at him. He moved on to the next, which was darker, the pain seeping through to him from the canvas. The next was the view from the window of the bedroom they had shared for that one sweet moment. Taking a careful step back he surveyed the room. There was not a single space of wall showing, as the paintings and drawings of their life together took up the entirety of the room.

When they'd tried to move him to a home, he'd refused. He couldn't leave this place. Their place, it was the home that they'd built together over that one perfect summer. He could feel his love in everything they'd created together. He was there in the paintings that he could not take down; in the flowers covering every available surface that he still picked fresh everyday from the garden they'd grown together the spring after the cottage had been built. He could not leave this life behind, because he could not risk losing those moment's where he swore he could feel his lover's arms around him, or his presence in an empty room. He would not leave the only place he'd ever known genuine happiness and peace.

When you're young, you think you can map out you're life. You spend hours pinpointing the moment you'll be successful, the moment that you'll marry, even the moment that you're first child is born. The part that you don't plan, the part that no one ever bothers to tell you, is that often, the way your see your life and the way it ends up turning out, are on completely different atlases. Kurt Hummel knew this better than most.

When Kurt was in high school, he was positive that he would see his name in lights someday. He knew, without a doubt, that he would leave this Podunk town behind and make a name for himself. Then, when he was sixteen, reality hit him hard when his dad had a heart attack. His father had survived, but only barely. He could no longer work; and Kurt, against his father's wishes, dropped out of school in order to take care of the both of them.

When he was eighteen, his father's heart failed him once again, and this time he didn't make it. So, with no family to speak of and nothing to his name, Kurt decided to finally escape Lima, Ohio. However, knowing now what it was to work hard to barely get by, he no longer felt that craving to be somebody. Sure, he'd like to be successful, but the meaning of the word had change. The only thing Kurt wished for himself now was happiness; real, pure, unadulterated happiness.

After spending a year in New York, Kurt had enough. He could barely get by, and he was working so much that he was losing track of himself, of what he wanted. Kurt had always been artistic. Before his father had died, he spent hours designing and creating his own clothes. Relishing the feel of a pencil gripped firmly in his hand as the outfit on the page began to take shape. What he hadn't realized, was that this artistic passion could carry over. He began experimenting with paints, everything from acrylics on canvas to watercolors. He learned what a difference proper shading meant, and how to create a deep impasto. Kurt spent some time exploring other mediums as well. He practiced with charcoal, he blended pastels, and he even picked up paper cutting for a short period of time. He learned to throw clay on a wheel. The simple act of putting something beautiful, something meaningful, onto a blank slate, of putting something where there once was nothing, brought a sense of contentment. This was what he had been missing, a way to let everything out so he could breathe again. Inspired, Kurt left New York.

Rather than simply choosing someplace randomly out of a hat, Kurt traveled. He visited the coasts of Florida, the deserts of New Mexico; he even spent a brief period of time in Montana, before finding himself settled into a little town in the northeast corner of Washington. He quickly found a job working at a Ranch that doubled as a bed and breakfast, which also offered room and board. He would wake up in the morning and set the table, help with breakfast, and then clean the guest's rooms. He'd then be free to do as he pleased, which meant he could spend his afternoons with his art, bringing to life the memories of his travels. His life, though simple, was finally becoming something he could be proud of. Kurt Hummel was finally content.

Living in so far from the majority of the state's population, meant that things like art supplies were hard to come by. So, Kurt would have them special ordered at the general store in town, he'd then go pick them up every Wednesday. One such Wednesday, Kurt found himself in a foul mood. He had stepped on a piece he'd been working on the night before, paint not yet dry. Not only did he accidentally track paint across the hard wood floors, but he also regretted the long, difficult repair that lay ahead of him. He had let out a sigh as he'd started his truck and made the twenty mile drive into town.

Kurt recognized every car in town; he could tell you that the Little's drove that rattling old Subaru and the Kelly's drove the rusted out old Ford. The population was small enough that he knew everyone who lived within a fifty mile radius at least by sight. Not to say that there were never people traveling through, but why a '59 Chevy Impala in near perfect condition was parked outside of the local post office was beyond him. He looked at the car, drooling a little over the cherry red beauty with its drop top lowered. Finally he turned his eyes back to the road and turned left into the parking lot.

He quickly realized that he was not the only one who'd noticed the car. Cheryl, the owner of the general store, and her husband, Harry, were both peering out the window, no doubt trying to get a better look at the car's mysterious owner. They were talking in a whispered hush and quickly quieted as Kurt approached the counter. Cheryl reached under the counter to retrieve Kurt's package, which he promptly opened, reveling in the sight of the clean canvas and soft brushes. "Honey, when you get yourself a girl, you better look at her with half as much love as you look at those damn art supplies." Cheryl joked good-naturedly as she moved to fix the now hiring sign in the window.

"Awww, c'mon Cheryl, you know you're the only woman for me." Kurt said, wrapping his arm half around her waist and planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. A bright blush quickly colored Cheryl's cheeks. Harry laughed as he watched the two interact.

"Hey now, don't you two go getting too cozy on me." Kurt smiled at him as thanked the both of them and made his way towards the door, where he promptly collided with the dark haired stranger who had just entered. Kurt's paintbrushes fell to the floor and both he and the stranger reached down to pick them up, their heads colliding in the middle.

"Oh, ow. I'm so sorry!" The man said. Kurt started to reassure him as he gathered his bearings and finally looked up at the person who had interrupted him. The man was beautiful, with short curls and the largest, most expressive hazel eyes Kurt had ever seen.

He was a couple inches shorter than Kurt, but he appeared to be about the same age. Kurt wasn't exactly open about his sexuality, when he was younger, and admittedly more flamboyant, it was simply something he couldn't get away from. Now though, with no reason to wear designer fashion in small town Washington, no one was asking and he wasn't necessarily forthcoming about the information. Kurt had never been in love, and at this rate he didn't think he ever would be. He had endured bullying in high school from the hands of his small minded classmates, he was settled and content here, and would rather not get pushed out of the first place he'd felt at home since his dad had died. Kurt, realizing that he was simply standing there staring smiled at the newcomer. The man's smile dropped, however, as he noticed the canvas in Kurt's hands. He was staring at it hungrily. Kurt shifted awkwardly. "Do you paint?" He asked, at a loss for words.

The man simply nodded in reply, still staring at the canvas in Kurt's arms. "Well, I should be going then, it was nice to, uh, run into you… um?" Kurt waited as the boy realized he was looking for a name.

"Blaine, I'm Blaine Anderson." Kurt smiled at that.

"Well, it was nice to meet you Blaine Anderson, I'm Kurt Hummel." He offered Blaine his hand, who shook it firmly. Kurt gave Blaine one last look before exiting the store. He couldn't help but wonder what Blaine was doing there, especially in that car. As he started his truck, supplies stowed securely in the passenger seat, his mind wandered from Blaine Anderson to the painting he was currently working on. He found himself wondering what colors he would have to blend together to get the exact hazel that he had seen in the eyes of the man who had mysteriously shown up in town.


	2. Chapter 2

_Basically, this has taken on a mind of its own and is going to be three parts instead of the two I'd originally planned. Also, if you've already started it, I did change the location (all locations in chapter one have been changed as well) So, sorry for any confusion! Just a heads-up, when all three parts are done I'm going to take the story down and re edit it into a one shot! Anyways, sorry for the giant AN. Enjoy!_

Water-Colored Roses (2/3)

The following Wednesday, Kurt was surprised to see Blaine's Chevy parked in Cheryl's usual spot in front of the store. He was even more surprised to enter the store and find Blaine behind the counter. Kurt raised his eyebrows as he neared the counter.

"Hello again." Kurt said questioningly and Blaine smiled in welcome.

"Hi!" Blaine replied, reaching under the counter. "This is yours I presume? Unless there's another Kurt Hummel in town." Kurt gave him a wry laugh.

"No, just me." He replied, taking the package from Blaine and opening it carefully. He inspected his new set of watercolors and the few sketch pads and charcoals he'd ordered. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to Blaine. "So, Blaine, right? What brings you to little, old Stevens?" Kurt asked with genuine curiosity.

Blaine shrugged in response, "I wanted a change I guess." He didn't seem willing to offer more, but Kurt's curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"I can understand that." A little too well, Kurt thought, "Where are you from originally?" Blaine was quiet for a moment and then, "I grew up in a smallish town in Ohio, after high school I moved to New York. I was pre law at NYU, but that… wasn't working out." Blaine said with downcast eyes. Kurt was in something close to shock. He was surprised that their lives had lead them on such a similar path; and for them to both end up here, he wasn't exactly sure what the odds were, but they had to have been pretty low. Not wanting to push a subject that was clearly making Blaine uncomfortable, Kurt moved on, "So, Blaine, where are you staying?"

"I'm renting a room out at the Stuart's place." Kurt smiled at this.

"Oh you'll have to tell them I said hi. Their daughter Becky works with me at the B&B on weekends." Blaine nodded in response, so Kurt continued. "What do you think of our little town so far Blaine?"

"Well, everyone has been really welcoming, as far as the town itself goes; I have to admit I haven't seen much. I haven't had a chance to look around yet, so all I've really seen is what's in between the general store and the Stuart's." Kurt laughed at that.

"Well, there isn't much more to see to be honest, but, if you're interested, I can show you around later?" Kurt wasn't sure why he offered. He generally kept to himself when he wasn't working, holing himself up in his room with his art. However, he was intrigued by this boy who'd shown up out of nowhere and demanded to be at the forefront of Kurt's thoughts. Since he'd literally run into him, Kurt's art had become paintings of rich greens and yellows. Prominent golds splashed across the canvas. Kurt could also see a battle going on in Blaine's facial expressions; it was obvious that he was wary to accept this proposal of friendship. Finally, he agreed, telling Kurt to meet him there when the store closed at five. Kurt grinned to himself as he headed home to change.

Kurt pulled into the space next to Blaine's car at fifteen 'til five. He briefly surveyed his appearance in the rearview mirror, and wondered, not for the first time, why it mattered. The likelihood that Blaine shared his interest in men was not very high. Still though, there was something about Blaine that made Kurt want to impress him. Kurt checked his watch, wringing the band around his wrist nervously. At five after Blaine appeared, locking the doors behind him. Kurt smiled and waved as Blaine made his way to the passenger side door. "Hi!" Blaine said, surprisingly cheerful; and the smile he gave Kurt almost made him consider spending his life doing extraordinary things for this man, just to see that smile.

"Hi." Kurt responded a little breathlessly. Taking a moment to steady himself, he continued, "We have about three hours of daylight left, so tell me, Blaine Anderson, what would you like to see first? There's the post office right over there, you have to speak up because Wendy is a little hard of hearing. Over there you have the lovely grade K-12 school, three hundred students total. There's the bar a couple blocks down, I suggest not going there. It smells like someone died in an ashtray. Oh! And there's a library which is on Elm. It's only open Tuesdays though, so we're kind of out of luck on that one. Well, that's pretty much the town for you, I can drop you back off at your car now if you'd like." Kurt's truck hadn't even left the parking lot. For a moment, Blaine looked as though he thought Kurt was serious, then, seeing the humor evident in Kurt's face, he laughed.

"Well, now that you've shown me the town Kurt Hummel, maybe you could show me what it is you love about this place so much. I'm dying to know." Blaine looked at him, mischief playing in his hazel eyes. Kurt nodded, a smirk barely concealed on his lips.

"Ok then, here we go." Kurt said, turning the truck on and heading north out of town.

They drove for an hour, their mindless small talk soon taking a more serious tone. Kurt told Blaine about his dad and what New York had meant to him. He briefly discussed how'd he'd ended up in Washington, in a town smaller than the one he'd sworn never to return to. In turn, Kurt learned that Blaine was an only child; he had been born into a fairly well-off family. When he was fourteen, he'd officially come out. Kurt's cheeks colored when he heard this, he was surprised and relieved that the man he was finding himself increasingly attracted to was at least able to return his affections.

The high school that Blaine went to his freshman year was very similar to Kurt's, in that there was maybe one or two gay kids and the rest of the student population thought that this meant it would be ok to torment them. Blaine had dealt with daily harassment, not only at school, but also at home. His mother acted as though she were blissfully unaware of her son's "predicament," although he himself had reminded her numerous times. Still, it was better than his father who, upon learning of his son's sexuality, immediately blamed himself for not being there enough to show him what it meant to be a man.

The summer he turned fourteen, his dad insisted they spend every weekend rebuilding that damn Impala. He would take him to football games and talk about the cheerleaders, they'd play baseball in the backyard, but nothing could "fix" Blaine, mostly because there was nothing to fix in the first place. At the end of the summer, after his father's various attempts at what he called "men time," after the stupid Chevy was built, Blaine's father had looked at him with a kind of wild hope, but Blaine was still Blaine, and therefore, still attracted to men. His father, whose heart was obviously broken, gave up. He no longer even acknowledged his son's presence in their home. Blaine started high school, and, when he and another gay student were the victims of a hate crime outside of the Sadie Hawkins dance, the look of disappointment on his parent's faces in that hospital room was enough to break Blaine. He couldn't do it anymore, and that was the day he'd promised himself he would make his parent's proud. So, he'd started attending private school in Westerville and was on the fast track to following in his dad's footsteps and adding a second Anderson to his father's law firm. However, there was one thing that he couldn't let go of, one thing that he didn't feel complete without. That thing that held him together even on his loneliest of days was art.

Blaine had been an artistic child. Art had been his favorite subject in school as far back as preschool. For awhile, his parents humored him. They assumed it was simply a phase that he would grow out of like the action figures that were now stored away in the attic. His parents, of course, had been wrong. In middle school, Blaine took every art class that was offered and excelled. He put everything he had onto the paper, or glass, or canvas that he was working with, it was his true passion. He was going to be an artist someday. Later, when he'd transferred to Dalton and given up on his silly little dream in order to appease his parents, he still did not give up practicing, even if it had been reduced to a hobby. Blaine poured his emotions into his work; he was relieved of the anger, sadness, and regret he felt on a regular basis as soon as that brush hit the canvas. It was really the only part of himself he had left. Then Blaine had graduated high school, and law school, apparently, left no room for Blaine to continue expressing himself.

At first, Blaine had tried, but an overwhelming work load left him no free time, unless he just stopped sleeping altogether. For awhile, he thought he'd be ok without it. He was focusing on school and he was in New York without his parent's there looking over his shoulder at every step. The first few months of school, he'd been so busy getting into the swing of the things that for a moment, a very small blip in time, he thought that maybe this really was what he had wanted all along. He thought maybe painting was just a frivolous hobby and he started to thrive in the structured environment that was law school. He had been wrong.

Blaine Anderson had never acted out. He'd rarely missed a day of class since grade school, aside from those two months he spent in the hospital after the Sadie Hawkins dance. He was a straight-A student with a bright future, however, his life in New York began to take its toll.

During Blaine's second semester at NYU he began to change. He grew increasingly more irritable as the year dragged on; he no longer participated in class, showing up late on many occasions before he finally stopped showing up at all. He found himself arguing heatedly with his parents about even the little things, like whether he should go home for Spring Break or go to Miami with his friends. His mother would say things like, "you used to be such a sweet boy, what's making you like this?" Blaine would want to reply something like, "Oh nothing mom, just all this pent up aggression I have because I am doing what you and dad want me to do and it's making me miserable." His father was no better, "you know, you'll never make it in court with an attitude like that son," and Blaine would shrug noncommittally. It was the same passive aggressive bullshit that Blaine had been dealing with his entire life, and Blaine was done. So, he dropped out of law school and ran as far away as he could.

Apparently, that meant Stevens, Washington.

At some point during Blaine's story, Kurt had stopped the truck; they had arrived at his favorite spot in the area. He put the truck in park, but let the engine idle, turning to look at Blaine who had unshed tears in his eyes. "Well, anyway." He laughed humorlessly, "You're the first person who's gotten the full, unabridged life story of Blaine Anderson, well… ever actually." Kurt looked at Blaine sadly; wonder in his eyes as the floodgates opened and tears began to spill. Kurt was at a loss, he wasn't really a physically demonstrative person, and he had learned early on that boys didn't hug other boys, unless they were asking to be beaten up. He could not, however, simply sit there and watch this beautiful, broken boy cry in the passenger seat of his truck. Having made his decision, he quickly undid his seatbelt and leaned over, enveloping Blaine in a tight hug.

"Shhhhh…" Kurt whispered. "I'm here. I'm right here, and I'm so sorry Blaine." He was apologizing for Blaine's parents not being what he needed them to be; for the boys who beat him up outside of the Sadie Hawkins dance; for the bullies who made his Freshman year a living hell. He was apologizing for the beautiful '59 Chevy that haunted Blaine everywhere he went, Kurt apologized for all of the things in Blaine's life that had gone wrong, because no one deserved this. That one, simple apology was the fault line; what was before only quiet tears quickly turned to big, shaky, wheezing sobs escaping his lips. He clutched Kurt, as if begging Kurt to never let him go. Blaine held onto Kurt for dear life, he was hanging on the edge of a cliff and Kurt was his only lifeline. Kurt wasn't sure how their evening had turned from almost, maybe a first date, now that Blaine's sexuality was confirmed, to Blaine gasping for breath, making no attempt at shielding the tears that were coming at full force now, staining Kurt's shirt. What shocked him even more was how much he felt for Blaine. They had only known each other for a short period of time, but Kurt felt as though he knew Blaine. Kurt felt he had just met a kindred spirit, someone who understood. In that moment Kurt knew that even if they never ended up together romantically, he had just found the best friend he had ever had.

When Blaine had finally calmed down, Kurt let him go and started searching for something underneath his feet. Having found what he was looking for, he turned back to Blaine taking his hand and pulling him from the truck, "Well, c'mon then. I want to show you something."


End file.
